The Stupidity of Fools in Love
by LSMunch
Summary: To let her go in the first place was stupid, to think what I thought was foolish and now... now I'm being cliché.
1. Stupidity

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Stupididty is possibly the greatest human achievement in the history of mankind. Probably the greatest achievement since the Earth was formed however many millions of years ago. Comes in handy, too, when stupidity happens to be achieved by a murderer. Then it's open and shut. God is looking down us that day, saying, "Well, if I'm going to kill someone, let's have this stupid person do it so the police can catch him."

Of course, it's not so great when you finally achieve stupidity yourself. I recently achieved this higher status when I broke her heart.

"Who?" you ask.

The only one that mattered.


	2. Fool

I must be the most cliché man in the world. The stupidest, most foolish, cliché man in the whole damn city, and then up until you get to the rest of the world. To let her go in the first place was stupid, to think what I thought was foolish and now... now I'm being cliché. God, I should arrest myself. Throw away the key. Put myself in jail with rapists and pedophiles and let them have their way with me. Although, maybe the pedophiles wouldn't be that interested...

It's raining. Pouring actually. For some stupid, foolish reason, I decided to walk home. And then, it started pouring. Instead of going inside, or catching a cab, I kept walking. Then I found myself here. Standing outside her apartment building, soaked to the skin, ringing her buzzer. She answers and then... damn it, I freeze. Just stand here, staring at the damn box and reading the names next to each button. After a moment, she stops saying 'hello' into the damn thing. I push it again.

"Who is it?" She sounds annoyed now.

"John." Hey, voice! How are you? I'm getting along, thanks. I want to smack my forehead at the whole ordeal.

I can picture her sigh as she says, "Come on up." She buzzes me in and I open the door, finally out of the rain. Taking the stairs two at a time, I realize I might slip, but then again, I could probably slip just standing still, with how wet I am. When I get up to her floor, and then her door, I freeze again. I don't know how she knows I'm standing here, but she opens the door, making no move to step aside so that I might come in. Maybe she timed me. Maybe it always takes me this long to get up here. Maybe... _shut up, John!_

"I just... I was passing by, and I thought..." My words fade into non existence and I frantically start searching for my voice again.

She looks at me expectantly, her eyes telling the whole frigging story. She's exhausted and hurt, and it's all my fault.

"Can I come in?"

She steps aside, gesturing for me to help myself through the door. I try my best not to touch her as I pass, but my coat brushes her arm and we both shiver. Once she closes the door, I find myself wondering what to do. Dripping all over her apartment wouldn't be the best thing, considering my position already. _What in the hell is wrong with me?_

I look around her kitchen, and what I can see of the living room. It looks just the same as it did a couple weeks ago, when I was last here. I don't really know what I was expecting to be different. Perhaps I was expecting her place to look something like mine, more like a pig sty than a living space for a usually clean man.

"So, how's it going?" _Oh, John, small talk is a bad idea._

She sighs. "What is it, Munch?"

Ouch. I wouldn't have expected that to hurt, but it does. My mind starts screaming the words I should say, but I've lost my voice again. Then, I look down at her, into her eyes, the ones I looked at before. The ones that are tired, hurt and (here's the incredibly cliché part, folks) the words come. "I'm sorry, Liv. I'm sorry I was so stupid. I'm sorry I hurt you. I'm sorry I'm such an ass. I'm sorry, Liv. God, am I sorry." It comes out quick, words tumbling over each other, rolling faster as I continue talking. "I'm sorry I hurt you, I'm so sorry." And even though my words are jumbled together, I know she understands me. Before I know what I'm doing, I've taken her head in my hands and start kissing her face, everywhere. "I'm sorry, Liv. God, I'm so sorry." It comes out again and again as I kiss her cheek, her nose, her forehead, her jaw.

I feel her slightly smaller hands latch onto mine as she pulls them away. "John, stop," she says quietly. I do and look down at her. She returns the look, then reaches a hand up, brushing away the wey hair that's plastered to my forehead.

I open my mouth to say 'I'm sorry' again, but she puts her finger to my lips.

We stand like that, me dripping on her floor, and her trying to fix my hair, or doing something with it, our eye contact never breaking. Finally, she says quietly, almost a whisper, "You hurt me." This time I don't open my mouth because something tells me that she's gonna keep talking. "And the reason you hurt me is because I love you. If I didn't, it wouldn't have hurt so bad. That's one of the things about love. You leave yourself open to be hurt. I'm not going to hurt you and I'm not going to leave. That's one of the other things about love. You stick around."

I don't say anything. I don't have anything to say. I look at her through glasses that are still a bit foggy.

"And you come back," she whispers. "Like you did. You come back." She leans up then, and kisses me full on the lips. My hands find their way back to the sides of her head and we stand for a minute, kissing. When she pulls away, I let my forehead rest against hers. "How about we get you warm and dry?"

"Could we perhaps get me dry, then warm?" I say, and she smiles.

"Yeah." She takes my hand in hers and starts to walk, but I pull her back.

"Liv, I'm sorry." This time I say it, not in a scared rush, but calm and serious.

One corner of her mouth is raised and she says, "I know, John. C'mon."

I feel better now, as if I said what I needed to say and a weight has been lifted from my chest. I let her guide me through her apartment, though I could walk through it in my sleep, and into the bathroom, and later into the bedroom, my foolishness over, for a time. I'm no longer the stupidest, most foolish, cliché man. I've passed it on to some other poor, blessed man in love with a woman.


End file.
